


Turned out to be the luckiest day I've known

by hopefor46



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Sappy, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:16:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22197523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefor46/pseuds/hopefor46
Summary: Ronan takes a moment before the wedding.
Relationships: Ronan Farrow/Jon Lovett
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	Turned out to be the luckiest day I've known

Ronan paced the museum hall long enough that he started to worry he’d get blisters in his dress shoes.

Their event agreement stipulated that each of the grooms have his own wing in which to “prepare,” although Ronan had been dressed for hours. Jon immediately commandeered the Prehistoric Wing and was probably greeting guests right now under the _T. rex_. Probably Favs and Tommy and Dan snuck in a flask and were toasting like they’d done before the others’ weddings.

Over in Ancient Civilizations, Ronan had had a few guests, but he wanted to be alone for a minute before… before everything happened.

It still surprised him how much he wanted _everything_ to happen on this day. When they got engaged, Jon had begrudgingly acknowledged that Fran would be apoplectic if they ran off and eloped. That’s what Ronan told everyone to justify the wedding. It saved him from saying: _I want this. I want this for us. _

Because even now, he struggled to put it into words. 

Ronan had known for a long time that he wanted to be with Jon forever. He knew it at the same time he knew (people told him) all the other things: They were (he was) too young, it was too impractical, no one knew what the future would hold. Through all of it, they stayed together and something about Jon crept into his life and took root even as other things withered and died. What he’d been through in the past 2 years only strengthened his resolve that they were in it for the long haul, even as he sensed that Jon was afraid to ask the question himself.

Such a thing felt almost too precious to joke about. When Jon avoided talking about it, Ronan knew it was because he felt the same way. He was more wary, even at the beginning of their relationship, more protective of Ronan. (“I’m not hiding you,” he said on their fourth or fifth date, possibly the fourth that had turned into the fifth overnight when Ronan curled into Jon’s chest and fallen asleep for the first time. “I’m looking out for you. If anyone’s going to be gossiped about here, it’s definitely you.”) The first time Jon grabbed his hand in public first, Ronan practically swooned.

Sure, a wedding was impractical—there’d been extra paperwork, proxies to sign, a strategic leak to the paparazzi just a few days earlier. (Jon had loved all the precautions. “I’m becoming a spy!” he said, before embarking on an extravagant course of throat clearing. “Pardon. I’m becoming _Mister Spy_,” he said with a theatrical wink that caused their normally formidable wedding planner to practically fall out of her chair.)

Just last week they’d driven 2 hours out of the way to get the marriage license at a dusty courthouse in Temecula from a bored clerk who definitely hadn’t scheduled any time to hear their personal backstory. Leaving the courthouse, Jon spotted a mission up the hill and walked up ahead of Ronan to see it. Ronan watched his dark head along the white stone, his calves working against the balusters as he climbed. Took a few pictures that would never go on Instagram. Jon stopped at the top rail and posed like Evita, and Ronan took a picture of that too. Then Jon had called for Ronan to come up, and he obeyed.

“From this perch we survey our kingdom,” Jon said low into his ear.

“I love it when you talk like that.”

“Normally I don’t see the appeal of the monarchy, but I’m beginning to see it from here.”

“You realize it was monks who lived here and not royals.”

“Not much chance of me taking that career path.”

“Lucky me.” Ronan ran his hand down Jon’s back and squeezed his waist gently.

Even after all of that, trouble could find them. But they’d figure it out. They figured it out in Chelsea with Ronan going out of his mind with fear, when Jon had clamped him in his arms for hours until he could calm down. They figured it out after the election, when Ronan read the Crooked Media incorporation papers with a fine-toothed comb and Jon fretted that there wouldn’t be a writing career for him to go back to if this failed. _It won’t_, Ronan said more from faith than from conviction. And it didn’t.

It was strange to walk through a museum of dead things and commit to a life, but they’d never been afraid of being strange. Plus, when they stepped out onto the wide terrace with the planner Jon’s face had lit up and he’d said “We can have the reception out here!” Ronan wanted to see that face every day.

Ronan paused by a marble torso. Were those footsteps? Or music? It wasn’t quite time for the ceremony to start, what…

The music got louder and Ronan grinned.

“Who goes there!” he called. Jon strolled into view, be-tuxed, holding out his phone which was blasting the “Breath of the Wild” theme.

“There’s my fiancé,” Ronan said, helpless before him.

“Sure, use it one more time.”

“Fiancé. Fiancé. Fiiiiannnnnnncé.” Then Jon had reached him, and took Ronan’s face in his hands. He tasted like cinnamon and promise.

When Jon pulled back, his eyes were shining. “Okay. That accomplished, let’s get hitched.”

“Sure.” He took Jon’s hand so they could walk down the aisle together.

**Author's Note:**

> pod save this wedding! 
> 
> If you liked this, I also wrote a [holiday fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722821) which is almost as sentimental (but hotter).


End file.
